


Wishes and Nightmares: Anniversary Funfest Bonus Scenes

by SaraNoH



Series: Nadiaverse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bonus Scenes, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraNoH/pseuds/SaraNoH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year ago today (7/31/12), I published my first bit of Avengers fanfiction. To celebrate a year of writing over a quarter of a million words for the fandom, I asked readers to give me prompts of what they wanted to see. Turns out, they could all fit during or after my story of Wishes and Nightmares. So as a thank you for being kind enough to read what I write and support my crazy stories, here's my thank you in the form of bonus scenes of the story I just finished.</p><p>Prompts will be posted once a day until I run out. There's seventeen of them, and they will be posted in chronological order according to the Nadiaverse timeline.</p><p>Thank you all again for your comments and favorites for my words. It means a ton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> the_wordbutler requested "...a scene with Clint and Phil shortly after Loki came in and essentially made Phil all better. Because reactions from those boys. And their love. And whatnot."
> 
> This scene would take place during the first chapter of Wishes and Nightmares.

Clint refused to let Phil leave Medical until the doctors ran all their tests. Twice. The archer sat silently in the chair next to the bed, nodding every time Phil swore he felt fine but never truly believing him.

Watching the man die was ten times worse than the imagination-fueled nightmares that'd plagued his sleep for the last eight months. Their relentlessness hadn't subsided in the twelve weeks since Phil's return from the dead, but at least when Clint awoke drenched in sweat, Phil was there beside him.

Once all the test results were double-checked, the doctors came and told Phil that there was no sign Loki ever attacked him. His lung functions were completely normal, unlike during the handler's physical six weeks prior; scars had vanished, residual pain along with them. The patient was released and the men traveled silently back up to their quarters.

Neither said much about it for the next three days: there was a battle in Queens, Clint was tasked away for an afternoon, Phil kept busy dealing with Tony in his genius fugue and Bruce being stuck in the Other Guy's body, and there was the fact that they both sucked at talking about their feelings.

When Phil first came back, Tony'd promised to build the handler his own floor. Clint volunteered to let Phil stay with him in the meantime; he used the excuse of wanting to keep an eye on him. Only Natasha gave him a look about it, but then again, she was the only one who knew the two of them had tried to start something a few days before Loki showed up in New Mexico.

Two dates were all they'd had. And that's only if you called late-night meals in front of Phil's TV watching crappy reality shows "dates. " Then the world'd gone to hell—or at least Clint's had.

When Phil came back from the dead (the first time), Clint led him to his quarters, telling his boss to take his bed, that he'd sleep on the couch. Not that Clint actually slept; instead, he sat down next to the open bedroom door to listen to Phil's breathing. Not a creepy, stalker way, just wanting to make sure he was still alive and all.

"I can feel you out there," Phil'd mumbled from the bed. "Get in here if it means you'll actually sleep."

Clint muttered an apology as he gingerly crawled under the sheets. "You feelin' okay?"

"You won't be if you ask me that again," Phil answered, keeping his eyes closed.

Clint wanted to laugh at the joke, but they both knew there was no way Phil could carry out the threat. He was pale, and his suit hung loose. The doctors had told the team that it would take a while for Phil to get back to his old self, if he could ever get there again. Loki's attack had left him with decreased pulmonary functions and badly broken ribs. Loki'd nicked his heart, but that damage was mostly repaired. Somehow. Clint didn't really ask questions with not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

Clint stayed with Phil as much as possible that first week. At least, until Phil got antsy under the constant supervision, which was when Clint let Natasha take her turn. It wasn't until a month after Phil'd come back that he allowed Clint to look at his scars up close, to memorize their shape with the tips of calloused fingers.

It took six weeks before Phil was allowed back on duty, and six weeks after that, Loki reappeared. If anything, Clint was gentler in his touch after Phil was deemed healthy than when he'd first come back, as though, if he poked too hard, something would shatter and turn to ruin. His touch was fearful, his mouth silent, but so was Phil's.

A week later, Clint walked out of the shower to find Phil standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom. The agent was completely dressed with the exception of his dress shirt, which was draped over the foot of the nearby bed. Phil stared at his reflection with a look on his face Clint had seen a hundred times before; it was the expression the handler wore when he was trying to put pieces of a puzzle together, and rarely did that look have to remain in place as long as it was in this moment.

Clint secured his towel around his waist as he slowly walked up behind the other man, the knot of emotion in his chest swelling with each step. He came to a stop directly behind Phil, resting a hand on each bicep.

"Is he trying to screw with my head?" Phil asked.

"You'd know if he were, trust me."

"Then why? Why this?"

Clint shrugged. "He said he was granting wishes as well as nightmares. Maybe this is his version of an apology."

Phil shook his head. "Someone like that doesn't say he's sorry. I don't think remorse is something he's capable of."

Clint tried hard not to let his mind drift back to the time he spent under the influence of the Tesseract when he could easily hear Loki's thoughts. Instead, he leaned forward to place a kiss on Phil's shoulder. "How about," he said softly, his hands moving underneath the man's arms to find his hips before sliding up to his chest, "we just be happy for a bit?" He nuzzled against the spot where Phil's neck became his shoulder, smiling when he heard Phil's sharp intake of air as Clint's fingers grazed their way up Phil's stomach before his hand laid flat against the spot where Loki's staff made its exit wound, the softness of chest hair that'd taken the place of the angry scar underneath his palm. Clint's right arm wrapped around Phil's waist to pull him flush against Clint's chest. "Why don't we try that for once—just being happy? We both know it won't last for long."

Phil nodded and sighed, letting his weight rest for just a moment against Clint's body. "Okay," he agreed quietly.

"Okay," Clint seconded. "Besides, I think we're clear of Loki screwing with our lives for a little while. Let's enjoy that."


	2. Abengers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qweb requested "I'd like to see a meeting with the family from Babies 'R' Us so the parents know the boy was right about the Avengers".
> 
> This family is featured in Chapter 18. This prompt would take place between Chapters 23 & 24.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I appreciate the prompts that have been sent to me in the last day, the deadline to send in ideas was four days ago. Sadly, I can't take any new prompts, but thank you so much for caring about the story enough to want to see more scenes.

The Hernandez family, all six of them now, gathered in Maria's hospital room to coo and fuss over the new addition. The newborn—the first girl of the four children—slept peacefully, exhausted from the exertion of being born the night before.

Rosa had decided to show up fashionably late in the final hour of the twenty-seventh of June, which was a week after she was due. She then tried to make up for lost time by almost being born in a cab. As if Maria wasn't positive enough that this child would be her last, that fact alone definitely sealed the deal.

She and Cris'd left the kids at home with their oldest, Jorge, until their Tío Juan traveled the three subway stops to their place. Thankfully the two-year-old, Miguel, was already asleep, and the parents felt comfortable leaving the older boys to play video games for twenty minutes on their own.

Things turned out well in the end. Rosa was born inside the hospital and not a moving vehicle, their home was still intact when Maria's brother arrived to watch the boys during the night, and for now everyone was calm and quiet. Maria was fairly certain that her husband had threatened the older sons not to start their usual shoving matches inside the hospital or they'd be grounded for life. And Miguel was too busy staring wide-eyed at his new baby sister to get into his normal two-year-old antics. As long as he was tucked in by Maria's side in the hospital bed, he was happy to just curiously stare at the pink bundle in his father's arms.

Maria enjoyed the relative quiet in the room, knowing full well it wasn't going to last. The only sounds were the older boys playing on their Nintendos DSes and  _Keeping Up With the Kardishians_  coming from the television. It was the one guilty pleasure Maria watched, and she'd just given birth—she deserved to kill of a few brain cells by watching the show.

Halfway through some nearly unintelligible conversation about shoes, the E! Network cut in with breaking news. She heard Cris make some comment about what exactly qualified to the producers as "breaking news," which she chose to ignore.

Giuliana opened with a tease about wedding bells and impending patter of little feet. A series of grainy cell phone pictures were then shown; they featured a red-headed pregnant woman in a navy dress and a tall blond man kissing, light bouncing off his wedding band. "While there has been no official word from the Avengers, SHIELD, or even Stark Industries, it is believed that the couple in the photos are the Black Widow and Captain America. It would certain explain why she has been out of the public eye in recent months."

Miguel took in a happy gasp beside her. "Abengers!" he announced pointing to the television. His proclamation caused the older boys to momentarily forget about their video games and pay attention to what was being discussed.

"Miguel," Cris warned as he bounced his daughter around the room, "don't point, it's—" His words trailed off as he studied the pictures on the screen for a moment before he slowly turned to his wife in shock. "That was—in the store—we…"

"Yeah," she breathed, her head spinning.

"We could've sold that story to the tabloids and paid for years of college tuition," he lamented.

"Like anyone would believe that I helped the Black Widow and Captain America pick out shoes for their baby. Not even the girls at work will believe me," Maria argued.

Their older sons made loud complaints. "You met them?! Why didn't you tell us? The one time we don't have to go shopping with you and this happens?"

"We didn't know," Cris said in their defense.

"Abengers," Miguel giggled.

"Okay," Cris corrected, "your mother and I didn't know."

"Cap," Miguel agreed smugly.


	3. Protecting Your Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qweb wanted to hear about "…the alien battle where Natasha was hiding from the other Avengers points of view, Particularly Tony dropping down to the rescue with the shield and Steve fighting for his family."
> 
> This takes place during Chapter 25.

Tony was at work in the armory at SHIELD headquarters making adjustments on one of Clint's bows when the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three made their appearance. Word spread within a moment that another wave of drones were hot on their tails and would arrive any minute.

"JARVIS?" Tony called out to the Bluetooth stuck in his ear.

"The Mark Five is in the storage container to your right. I am booting up the systems now, Sir."

"Good." Tony hustled over and stepped into his armor, waiting the usual few seconds for everything to seal up around him. "Head count," he ordered as his HUD flickered to life.

"Enemy energy signatures being located now." There was a small pause as the AI interpreted the incoming data and monitored SHIELD comm channels. "Agent Barton and Doctor Banner have been assigned to deal with the portals appearing a mile south. Thor and the other Asgardians have been dispatched to Central Park, where the largest number of portals are appearing. The X-Men are being called in as backup, most of them directed to Central Park. We have been ordered to see to a small number a few blocks to the south."

"We get the leftovers? Remind me to file a complaint with Coul—"

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted urgently, as he did Tony's HUD flashed with two dots showing Avengers ID cards located at the same spot where the drones Tony was assigned to battle were located.

"I thought we were the only ones going there, JARVIS."

"That was the intention, but it appears that Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff were already nearby."

Tony's eyes caught on a flash of red and white, and he turned to see Steve's shield lying on a nearby table. The man had left it there that morning after combat training with a few agents. "JARVIS, are they armed?"

"Not adequately, Sir, no."

"Shit," Tony swore. He grabbed Steve's shield, maneuvering it onto his right arm as his left hand came up to blast away a window large enough for him to fly through. "Tell Fury he can dock my pay for that."

In a literal flash, he was out the building. The presence of the vibranium shield disrupted his usual posture for flight slightly but luckily it only took a few seconds for him to reach his destination. As he came in for a hard landing, JARVIS began to show a number of things on his HUD: that Steve was shielding Natasha, that neither of them were wearing anything to protect them, and a warning that one of the drones had locked onto Steve and was about to fire. Tony twisted in the air just before he landed between the drones and the couple so that Steve's shield came up to block the incoming projectile. It clanged off the shield and Tony was happy that JARVIS was able to pick up some data at how the metal reacted to the weapon's contact, but that was for later.

Tony twisted and tossed Steve's shield to him, slightly sad to let it go but thrilled to have used it once in a battle. His suit's audio sensors picked up on the other man begging Natasha to run away, which she did. "JARVIS, keep tabs on her."

"Of course, Sir. I will keep Agent Coulson apprised of her location."

Tony took to the air after firing off some mini-rockets from his left shoulder. He handled aerial assaults while Steve dug in on the ground. A few minutes into the fight, when it was obvious they were going to need help, JARVIS announced that Agent Sitwell and a team were on their way.

"Good," Tony admitted only to the AI. "What about Natasha?"

"Agent Romanoff is still safe inside the building."

"Okay, let's make sure their weapons are fired at the opposite side of the street. I don't have any pregnant teammates located over there."

"Of course, Sir."

JARVIS didn't have enough time to warn him about the EMP that was fired his way. It disabled his suit within a second; consequently, Tony fell four stories out of the air. When he hit the ground, he lost consciousness, and SHIELD lost tabs on Natasha.


	4. Thoughts on Becoming a Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler requested "a scene with Steve dealing with Natasha's decline late in her pregnancy (because we knew Steve was worried but Steve's POV. Because Steve.)"

Steve sat in his armchair by the dresser and watched Natasha sleep. He should've been in bed with her, but his thoughts wouldn't stop racing in his head. So instead he decided to brood over things he couldn't control. Things like how Natasha's body—strong enough to hurt even him—was wasting away.

He'd noticed her face thinning, but hadn't made a comment about it. He wasn't sure if it was something to be concerned about, and he certainly wasn't going to make a comment about her weight. While she wasn't as hormonal as some of the tales he'd heard about SHIELD agents' wives and girlfriends, she still had her moments; he valued his life too much not to be the one to invoke her temper.

But he should've done something, he repeated in his mind. Maybe if he'd spoken out, they would've picked up on what was going on sooner. Or perhaps if he'd listened more to her saying time and time again that she was exhausted, instead of just assuming that was normal for pregnancy. He hadn't, and now her life was in danger.

Steve looked over at the bed where Natasha slept in a sports bra and a pair of his boxers. Sheets only covered her legs; despite the fact that they were both more than happy to crank the air conditioning in the apartment, she still grew too warm surrounded by covers at night. He caught movement as an elbow or foot scooted an arc across her belly. Natasha stirred long enough to rub a calming hand over the spot before settling back into a deep sleep.

 _A daughter_. The thought thrilled and terrified Steve. This, unsurprisingly, was never how he expected to become a father, and it was still difficult to digest that Natasha was willing to let him fully take on that role. He would've been fine supporting her here and there when she needed it, but this… This was more than he expected, and now with Natasha's health in danger, it had the chance of becoming beyond overwhelming.

Before, whenever he thought of what it would be like to father a little girl, he always hoped she would end up being strong and brave like his mother, Peggy, Maria Hill, Natasha, or Pepper. He knew full well the path of where he wanted Nadia to follow—he wanted her to be as amazing and courageous as the those women—but he had no idea how to get her there, especially if Natasha wasn't going to be around to help. How was he, with his tendencies to be overprotective and fight other people's battles, supposed to raise a strong, independent person?

That was one of the big reasons he was scared to death when it came to Natasha's health. This amazing woman was entrusting the care and upbringing of her child to him, and he was bound to screw it up. He was already wrapped around the baby's finger and she wasn't even born yet. Steve just knew that without help he was going to end up with a helpless, spoiled brat of a daughter.

And he was sitting in his armchair and stressing over these things at three in the morning because it was easier than focusing solely on the idea of losing Natasha.

Natasha, who never asked him a million questions about being in the ice or what things were like in the forties or rambled on and on about learning all about him in history class. Natasha, who was a complete puzzle; albeit an incredibly attractive, utterly competent, and entirely lethal puzzle. Steve obviously had a type.

He dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets in hopes that it would blind him from the series of images threatening to flash through his mind: Natasha jumping off his shield during the Battle of New York, her smug smile at beating them all at poker night, her habit of unconsciously touching her stomach whenever Nadia moved, the sight of her walking into the small church for their wedding, her red curls splayed on his pillow. The thousand little things that made him fall for her so deeply it scared him to think about how much work and energy it would take to climb out of this pit.

He waited till his vision recovered from the abuse he inflicted on his eyes before reluctantly standing from the chair and climbing into bed. He made his movements as minimal as his large frame allowed so he wouldn't wake up Natasha. Not knowing if tonight would be a time where she could tolerate his touch—an increasing trend because of summer heat and the growing discomfort of her expanding body—he settled for resting a hand a few inches from her back. He closed his eyes and used the smell of her shampoo and the sound of her even breathing to lull himself to sleep.


	5. The Waiting Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler wanted to read about how the men handled spending four days in the waiting room while Natasha was in a coma. Spoiler alert: not well.
> 
> Meaning you can blame her for the following angst.

Bruce was the first of the uncles to meet Nadia. A trio of nurses rolled the squalling newborn back into the nursery and quickly set about running the standard tests. Even though they were briefed on why the man with the glasses was observing every move they made and asking to double-check labels and charts, they still shot him dubious looks.

He couldn't care less. He stood there with arms across his chest, keenly watching their actions, and internally cringing at how the baby—Nadia—had yet to stop crying. Once the pace at which the nurses worked slowed slightly, he edged toward the radiant warmer. Bruce took in the sight of her face for the first time, and his chest tightened.

"Hey," he said, just loud enough to be heard over her cries. He didn't know if either Steve or Natasha had seen her, held her, or spoken her name to her. If they hadn't, he didn't want to steal that opportunity to be the first to do so. "Hey," he repeated. "You're okay. I know it's scary and bright and loud, but you're okay."

One of the nurses quickly diapered and swaddled the girl in a blanket before sticking a pink stocking cap on her head, but it did nothing to calm down her crying. Bruce leaned further in towards Nadia to try another round of talking to her in hopes of calming her down when Steve burst into the nursery. The man's eyes were red and wet; they wildly searched the room until they fell on the baby. Steve froze at the sight of her, and Bruce felt his stomach sink at the sight of Steve. "Natasha?" Bruce asked.

"She stopped breathing on the table. McClellan kicked me out," he answered in a tight voice, his eyes never leaving his daughter.

"We were just about to bring her out to you, Captain," one of the nurses informed him. "You can hold her if you want."

Steve nodded dumbly and swiped at his eyes before he lifted the baby up with painstaking care. "Hi, Nadia," he said quietly. At the sound of his voice, her cries began to taper immediately. "Hi, sweetheart. I'm… I'm your daddy."

Bruce had to look at his shoes. He didn't have the right to witness such a private moment. He felt nauseated that Natasha wasn't here, that the joy of all that was happening around him had a bitter aftertaste. He half-listened to Steve mutter sweet nothings at his new daughter while he double-checked the chart one of the nurses handed to him.

"Is she okay?" Steve asked.

Bruce gave him a reassuring smile. "She's perfect."

The new father let out a watery chuckle at the assessment. "Hear that?" he asked Nadia. "You're perfect."

* * *

All eyes turned on Bruce when he walked into the waiting room. "Well?" Phil prompted.

"Five pounds, ten ounces, eighteen inches long. Completely healthy," the doctor informed them as he sank into an empty chair. "Steve's with her."

A darker emotion quickly flickered over the man's face. Phil barely caught it in the subdued celebration around him at the safe arrival of the newest found-family member. "What else?"

Bruce rolled his lips together to buy a moment's time before saddling the group with what was obviously bad news. "Steve said Natasha'd stopped breathing."

Phil felt Clint go completely still beside him. He couldn't see the archer's face because he was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. Phil knew it was ingrained into Clint's body to go still when someone's life was hanging in the balance, but it churned his stomach to see Clint react like that. "He say anything else?"

Bruce shook his head. "And I left before any other news came out."

Tony shot up from his chair. "I'm going to find out what's going on."

"They're not going to tell you anything," Pepper told him before grabbing his hand. "Just sit down."

"This is my tower," he said as he pulled his hand away from hers. "If I want to know something, they have to tell me about it."

"HIPAA disagrees with you," she argued, her voice lacking it usual energy.

Phil's hand moved to rub up and down Clint's spine, his fingers seeking comfort in the soft cotton of the other man's shirt. This was not the first time he'd waited on news of the death of an asset, but none of those times had ever felt like this or hurt this badly.

A good handler would encourage them all to stay positive or, at the very least, would press to find out more information from the medical staff. Phil did neither. Everyone around him was too bitter and jaded to believe any lies dressed as encouragement, and he couldn't summon the energy to stand from his chair. He was exhausted from his usual work load plus worrying about Natasha and being there for Clint in the last couple of weeks.

And if he got out of his chair and found out something bad, he didn't want to have to be the one to tell the group. The last thing Phil wanted was to be the one responsible for telling Clint that his best friend was dead.

Clint's left hand reached over to grip Phil's knee; in return, Phil increased the pressure in his fingertips against Clint's back. They stayed that way for half an hour until McClellan came out to greet them.

"She's still alive—barely." She heaved a sigh and looked at Thor. "I can't believe I'm asking this, but I don't know who else to get advice from. All scans say there's no reason for this coma she's fallen into; she should be awake and acting normally."

The demigod rose from his seat with a nod. "I will see if I can be of assistance."

* * *

Thor followed the doctor back through the corridor. She asked for him to wait outside the Lady Natasha's room while they finished getting her settled into her bed. Thor walked a little further down the hall to stand in front of a bank of windows overlooking the city while he waited.

He looked up at the cloudless August sky and sighed wearily. "Mother, if you can hear me, show her some favor. It was our people's magic and our family that put her in this position. If there is anything you can do, please lend your favor. Do not deprive this new babe of a life without her mother." Thor knew he would not see a manifestation in the sky of his mother's answer, but he still kept his eyes locked on the blue expanse.

A nurse walked up to him to inform him that he could see Natasha. He nodded and followed the woman into the room Tony had specifically constructed for this occasion. The quiet of the space was unsettling; there should have been a great celebration taking place, not this.

"Well?" McClellan asked from the foot of Natasha's bed where she was typing information into a handheld device. Thor knew better than to mistake the impatience in her voice as a slight against him; it was merely concern for her patient.

He stepped up to the side of the bed. Natasha's face was paler than normal, her stomach smaller in size than he'd seen in recent weeks. Moving his sight past the surface, he began to look for signs of things the Midgardians could not see, but found nothing. What was once a wide red ribbon that trailed all over and around Natasha had reduced to mere thread in recent days, and now had completely vanished.

"The magic is gone," he announced.

McClellan paused in her typing to sharply turn her attention to him. "What do you mean gone? How can it be gone? She's in an unexplainable coma. Medicine can't touch this; it has to be in your neck of the woods."

Thor wasn't sure how that particular phrase applied, but then again, the only other time he heard it spoken was by the man who tried to predict the weather on the television in the morning. "On Asgard we have serpents that produce venom to kill their prey."

"Poisonous snakes, we've got those," McClellan said while nodding, confusion only growing more evident on her face.

"Not all bites are fatal. Most are, but there are times where some can survive. The most frightful hours are when the poison has been drained from the body, and only time will tell if the warrior is strong enough to survive the damage that was done."

McClellan tilted her head as she analyzed his words. "So you're saying that the magic is gone, but it took a huge toll on her systems. And now we have to wait and see if her body can recover from the injuries the 'poison' gave her."

"Yes."

"Well, that's stupid," she spat before running a hand over her tired face, "but it's the best idea I've heard to explain this. I just hate that it isn't something I can write a prescription for. The wait-and-see game drives me crazy."

Thor felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards. "Shouldn't a healer of your specialty be accustomed to waiting?"

McClellan's eyes turned to her patient and in an atypically quiet voice, she answered, "She's waited long enough for something good to happen to her, don't you think?"

* * *

Tony had a headache the size of the Pacific Ocean between his temples, and it didn't even have the decency to be caused by aged liquor. Pepper was pacing in front of him, quietly debating with Diana, one of her personal assistants, about how to best rearrange her schedule so she could remain at Tony's side as they waited for Natasha's health to do something.

It'd been two days since the woman had given birth, and so far, still nothing. She'd stopped breathing again the first day, but no major scares since then. Thor was the only one allowed to go see her, per McClellan's orders.

The Asgardian was back in the room now. Tony hadn't seen Steve in days, nor had he been introduced to the spawn yet. Bruce had a tablet in his lap as he continually searched databases for a previous case of something like this happening. Phil was firing off a series of emails from his phone while Clint was curled up in a ball next to him on the couch, snoring. Even though every one of them lived in the building, they all spent nearly every minute in the waiting room.

Despite Tony's name being on the building and him personally furnishing the room Natasha was hospitalized in, it did nothing to garner him favor with the medical staff. They refused to give him any information or let anyone else back to see her. He'd even stooped so low as to tag team with Coulson in an attempt to get  _something_  out of the medical personnel, but it was all for naught.

Thor didn't divulge anything helpful; Rogers hadn't turned his phone on in days. If Pepper wasn't constantly at his side, Tony'd have started to hack systems hours ago, but she'd told him to leave things alone.

The whispered discussion between his CEO-slash-hot girlfriend and her personal assistant grew more heated, and Tony felt an eye roll give way to an annoyed sigh. Standing, he plucked the phone from Pepper's grasp and told Diana that her boss was taking personal time away from work until further notice before he disconnected the call and stuck her phone in his back pocket.

"Tony," Pepper sighed at him wearily.

"No, you're taking time off. My name on the company; I still tell you what to do."

"That's not actually how it works."

"Sweetheart, how many friends do you have? Not that many." He took a step closer and rested a hand on her hip. "You're allowed to step away from work to worry about her for a while," he said before placing a kiss on her forehead. "This isn't some vacation to Venice to run away from things; take the time off from the business."

He saw her face crumple into the fear she'd been using work to hide behind for the last few weeks just before she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into the crook of his neck.

* * *

Clint was the only one awake when McClellan, looking just as rumpled and caffeine-dependent as the Avengers themselves, came out to the waiting room. He felt his stomach flip-flop at the sight of the smile on her face; either she had completely lost it, or…

"She's awake," the doctor whispered at him. He would've bolted upright at the news and ran back to Natasha's room if it weren't for Phil's head on his shoulder. Even then, the thought was tempting. She must've read his thoughts, because she shook her head at him. "Let them be a family for a little bit. Visiting hours start at eight."

Clint groaned his disappointment, but the doctor shot him a look that clearly stated she didn't care.

 _Family_.

Natasha was a mom. She was alive, and she was a mom. Clint wasn't sure which of those two thoughts was more difficult to swallow. Sure, he'd had months to begin to process one of those ideas, but he did better with touch and sight. And until he saw that baby for himself and held her in his arms (as well as saw and hugged her mother), part of him doubted all of this would become a happy ending.

He jostled his left shoulder gently and snuck a quick kiss into Phil's hair before the other man sat up. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

"She's back," Clint said softly with a grin.

Phil blinked several times in surprise at the two words. "When was the last time you slept?"

Clint rolled his eyes. "I'm not hallucinating; McClellan just came and told me. Wake up everyone up, we're going in at eight."

"She said we could do that?" Clint nodded, his grin increasing in size. "She's going to be okay?" Phil asked.

"You know Tasha, can't ever follow mission parameters to the letter."

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Clint chuckled before leaning over and capturing Phil's lips with his own. He let his joy at the news of Natasha's improvement seep into the contact, his lips battling between laughing and deepening the kiss.

"Dear god," Tony moaned, "worst nightmare ever. Someone wake me up."

"Hush," Pepper ordered, her voice thick from sleep. "Wait, that's happy kissing. Why are they happy kissing?"

"Tasha woke up," Clint answered.

Pepper's gleeful gasp woke Bruce, and Tony filled the scientist in on the morning's development while Pepper snuggled up against Tony, tears of joy sliding down her cheeks.

It took three of them to wake Thor, but once he was conscious enough to understand the words, he let a holler of victory at the news.

"Visiting hours start in," Phil paused to check his watch, "twenty-seven minutes. Everyone go back to their floors, put on clean clothes and brush your teeth. We're not going to cause anymore ailments due to severe cases of halitosis on our end."

The group made their way to the elevators, but Clint remained rooted in his spot, eyes locked on the corridor that led to Natasha's room. If his booted feet were going to travel in any direction, he desperately wanted them to go that way.

Phil's hand slid up and down his spine. "Twenty-seven minutes," he reminded Clint.

"Yeah," he breathed. He'd waited four days; he could wait another twenty-seven minutes.


	6. Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler requested "a ficlet after Nadia is born in which Pepper and Natasha talk about Pepper and kids, because I wonder if Pepper would want them, or if she wants them occasionally and the rest of the time is sensible about it, or whatever."

Natasha walked out into the living room to find Pepper stretched out on the couch, Nadia sprawled on her chest. The CEO was in rare form: hair back in a messy bun, graphic tee, yoga pants, and bare feet. Her eyes were closed, and Natasha felt a bit guilty for interrupting a rare quiet moment in Pepper's life.

"Doing okay?" Natasha asked quietly.

Pepper smiled. "Think so. Thanks for letting me hog her for a bit."

"Thanks for giving me the chance to shower. Want coffee?"

"Sounds delightful. Have you been drinking anything other than that or vodka in the last four weeks?"

"There's been a mug or two of herbal tea in there somewhere." She handed Pepper one of the drinks. Natasha hid her smile in her cup as the other woman awkwardly tried to sip her coffee in her current prone position. "Want me to take her?"

"Absolutely not. This is my turn with her." Pepper's day of the week to get cuddle time if she wanted was on Saturday. It was the first weekend she'd been home and not traveling for work to take advantage of the system.

Natasha sank down in the overstuffed armchair with a sigh. "I forgot how much I love quiet sometimes. It's a rare commodity when you live with a bunch of men."

"And a newborn, I'm sure," Pepper agreed with a nod. "Tony alone makes a lot of noise, but add in everyone else? At least you got to pair off with one of the quiet ones." She paused to make sure she wasn't waking Nadia up with her talking. "When do you think they'll get back?"

There weren't any new messages on her phone. The team had been dispatched to China two days ago. It was the first time Steve'd left Nadia for more than eight hours. He'd been able to call once yesterday, and Natasha had dutifully put him on speakerphone so "the three of them could catch up." Their four-week-old daughter slept through the entire conversation.

"Hopefully soon," Natasha answered.

"You doing okay on your own?"

Natasha nodded. "So far, so good. Darcy stopped by last night to offer me a break."

"She likes babies?" Pepper asked with a slight hint of disbelief.

"As long as they're not hers, she's happy. Steve thinks we should hire her on as a nanny when I get cleared to go back to work."

"How do you feel about that?"

Natasha shrugged. "She tased Thor, so I think she can handle herself. And she doesn't seem happy working in a SHIELD lab. I think she misses when it was just her, Jane, and Doctor Selvig and she could let loose a little."

"So you're willing to have her 'let loose' with you daughter?" Pepper asked, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smirk.

"Not too loose, but I can already feel a scary amount of overprotectiveness settling in. Maybe it will be good for everyone involved."

"You're good with her," Pepper complimented softly. Natasha shook her head and turned her attention to her coffee. "I mean it."

"I've helped raise Clint for years, so I had some practice."

Pepper's laughter woke Nadia and the baby gave a half-hearted cry at the disturbance. Gingerly, Pepper sat up, placed her mug on the coffee table and rearranged her hold on her goddaughter until Nadia was sleeping peacefully again. "You're good with her, too," Natasha commented.

"If you get to credit Clint, I get to credit Tony."

"You two ever thought about kids?"

Pepper played with Nadia's fingers for a second before answering. "We've had plenty of discussions about how we're definitely not having kids."

"But?" Natasha prodded, picking up on the sense that Pepper was holding something back.

"I don't know. I think about it sometimes, of what it would be like. I think Tony could be a great dad, but there's no way I could convince him of that. And, sure, sometimes I imagine what our kid would look like—not one of those creepy face mashups they do on  _Entertainment Tonight_  or whatever—but a little girl or boy with his dark curls and big eyes and my freckles…" She paused to shrug while she considered the possibilities. "But then Tony says something or does something, or the world tries to blow up or Tony blows  _himself_  up, and I'm glad we're sticking to the no kids rule."

"If he wasn't Iron Man, do you think that maybe…"

Pepper shook her head. "If he wasn't Iron Man, he'd create something else to become. And on the list of what the title could be, 'father' is fairly close to the bottom. So," she said turning attention back to Nadia, "I will gladly settle for just being Aunt Pepper."


	7. Christening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qweb requested Nadia's christening.

The first Thursday morning in October, a rare free moment in everyone's schedule, they traveled to Brooklyn. Steve unlatched the car seat from its base, and Natasha felt relief that their daughter's white Christening gown was still spit-up free. It was only a matter of time before that was no longer the case.

Steve had wanted the ceremony to take place as soon as possible, but it had taken some time for Natasha to feel like herself again, so he'd waited on her recovery before they travelled out to his native borough to have the necessary meetings with the priest beforehand. The priest only referred to Steve as Steven, something that made Natasha want to roll her eyes. Steve had called her out on it on the way home from their first meeting.

"Why do you react that way every time he says my name?"

"Because no one calls you that."

He shrugged. "My mom did. It's my given name. He's probably used to calling people by their Christian names."

"Does that mean he's only going to call her Nadezhda?" Natasha asked while hooking a thumb in the direction of the backseat where the motion of the car was lulling the baby to sleep. "Because I'd love to hear him pronounce it correctly and not sound like he's sneezing."

"You're the one who picked a very Russian name," Steve said in the priest's defense, humor lighting up his eyes.

"Yeah, well, you can name the next one."

Steve grinned. "You only say that because it's physically impossible for there to be a next one."

As they walked up the sidewalk to enter the cathedral, Natasha overheard some last minute betting between Clint and Darcy over who was more likely to burst into flames upon entering the church—Tony or Thor. She could hear the nerves in Clint's voice as he argued why it should be Tony, and Natasha completely understood why they were there. She felt out of her depth with this whole thing since religion never took any place in her life. The first time she'd been to mass was last Christmas when Steve somehow managed to cajole everyone into attending the midnight service.

That was a week-and-a-half after Loki attacked, and two weeks before Bruce had informed her of her blood work showing her pregnancy.

She shook off that thought before getting lost in the depth of thinking about how much her life had changed in the last not-quite year.

As she stepped inside the cathedral, she felt her heart quicken slightly. Both Steve and the priest, the great-nephew of the priest who'd christened Steve as an infant, had talked her through the process of the ceremony, and she knew logistically what was going to happen, but she still felt a little out of place. Most of them did, honestly. Steve had basically ensured the group's attendance by promising lunch and cake afterwards from their favorite deli in Midtown.

Natasha followed Steve down the aisle to the front row of pews. He set the car seat down and smiled at the almost seven-week-old baby inside. "Did you decide to wake up for this?" Unbuckling her safety restraints, he gathered her up and cradled her against his chest before smoothing out the lacy white dress he'd personally picked out. Quietly he chatted at her about the stained glass windows, the candles, and the faces of the various statues in the large room. Nadia's eyes locked on to his index finger as he pointed at the various items and her two little hands reached up to try and grab at it. The action just made Steve grin all the more and forced Natasha to look down at the toes of her shoes. Sometimes the innocent sweetness that had become her life was a tad bit overwhelming.

Once everyone was settled, the priest emerged in his robes. Steve introduced everyone and thanked him again for letting them have a private ceremony instead of being lumped in with the others at the end of Sunday's service.

The whole thing lasted maybe ten minutes, and Clint only managed strain his neck against his dress shirt collar and tie once. Natasha was grateful that it was her job to hold Nadia, because it made her feel like she had something to do, a role to play in this.

The baby only fussed one time, and that was when the priest poured water on her head. Natasha wasn't surprised at this; bath times were rarely fun. But the water did show how Nadia's blond hair was deepening into a shade of red. Natasha made quiet shushing sounds and jostled her slightly as the priest finished up his bit. After that, it was done. They'd signed the certificates, Clint and Pepper had made their promises to help raise her well, and Steve swore to raise her up in the Church. The priest toweled off Nadia's head and bid them peace.

A few minutes later, after Darcy had snapped photos of everyone and the group had returned to their cars to drive back to Stark Tower, Steve reached across the car's center console to take Natasha's hand. "Thank you," he said softly.

"She's your daughter, too."

"I know." Natasha raised an eyebrow to question his statement and he shrugged. "Most of the time, I know."


	8. Baseball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler requested a scene with Steve and "wee Nadia" and qweb wanted something to do with Nadia's Dodgers onesie. This scene has been in my head for ages, and I'm glad I finally have an excuse to write it.

Natasha entered their quarters to find Steve on the couch with Nadia, who was dressed in her Brooklyn Dodgers onesie and socks that looked they had red baseball stitching around the toe and heel, asleep in his arms. Natasha shook her head at the one outfit he meticulously matched together. The living room was dark save for the glow of the television, and she could faintly make out the voices of sports broadcasters debating whether a pitch was a ball or strike. Checking the clock, she saw that it was after ten. She should have showered after her first real sparring match with Clint in months, but instead she sunk down on the couch next to them.

"How long has she been asleep?" she asked.

"Made it 'til the fifth inning, then crashed. Don't worry, I tried to keep her awake as long as possible so we can keep up our weeklong streak of sleeping through the night."

"I'm not sure five in the morning doesn't still count as nighttime, but if you say so."

"At least you can drink coffee again."

She hummed happily at the reminder before checking the score. It was the second game of the World Series and Steve had spent the entire playoffs teaching their daughter something new about the sport with each game. Last night he'd instructed the ten-week-old on how to recognize when a hit was going to be a homerun by the sound the bat made when contacting the ball.

"And who are we hoping wins?" Natasha asked as she checked out the score.

"Any team that isn't the Yankees, but since they were already knocked out, I couldn't really care less. I'm just trying to savor the last bits of baseball until spring training starts."

"Do I need to ask JARVIS to drudge up games from when you were in the ice to help you make it through break?" She saw the hint of a sheepish smile on his face and shook her head. "Seriously? You've already watched all of them? Every single game that took place in seventy years?"

"Only the ones I was interested in. I didn't know anyone when I woke up here; it was something familiar and soothing. And it's not like I had a busy social life I was ignoring or anything."

"That's just sad, Rogers."

He shrugged, not having a better line of defense. "How'd it go with Clint?"

Natasha cracked her knuckles and toed off her boots before answering. "I had to knock a few of his teeth loose before he realized I wasn't kidding around. After that, he stopped letting me win."

"Who had more take downs?"

"It was pretty evenly split." She looked away from the television to stare him down. "Anytime you want to go—"

"I'll wait till after you're cleared by SHIELD," he replied, his eyes never leaving the screen.

She pursed her lips at him. "We sparred before. Medical's already given me the okay. I just have to do the combat portion of the test in two days and then I'll regain my active field status."

"Then we'll talk about it after you test."

"And what will your excuse be then?" she spat as she turned her attention back towards the game.

He waited through four more players coming up to bat and made a comment to a sleeping Nadia how it was a rookie mistake for an outfielder to lose sight of a fly ball in the lights of the stadium before addressing Natasha's question. "Do you know how many ways I could hurt you?"

"Do you know how many ways I could do the same to you?" He flinched at her question and she turned on the couch to face him. "You're the one always saying that everything is fine and going to be okay, and how we survived all of that and should be thrilled to be on the other side. If you truly believe that—"

"Do you realize how much control it takes for me not to hurt someone when I'm sparring? I don't think I even know the full limits of what I'm capable of. What if I slip? What if I get distracted? I could really hurt you."

"I won't let you." She watched his jaw work at her response. "I won't let you," she repeated. "And I don't think you would ever hurt me. I'm not sick anymore, not fragile." Natasha ran her fingers through his hair. She knew that even though his gaze was directed at the baseball game, his mind was reliving the days just before Nadia was born.

"We'll talk about it after your test," he stated again.

"Fine." She settled back against his side and draped her arm along the length of his thigh. In return, he placed his free arm along the back of the couch to give her more access to lean up against him. "What was tonight's lesson?"

"The art of the fastball," he answered.

"You're such a dork."

"And yet I managed to marry you."

"That was more for her sake than it was for me."

Steve smiled down at the sleeping baby. "I'm okay with that. At least she doesn't call me names."

"Yet," Natasha countered. She moved to lean across him and skim a finger over Nadia's bare legs only to have Steve angle his body slightly to block her access. "What are you doing?"

"If I'm not allowed to cuddle with her when I'm sweaty and gross, then neither are you."

Natasha stared at him in disbelief. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"Nope."

She stood and put her fists on her hips. "So you're saying I could've avoided my share of feedings at three in the morning just by working up a sweat?"

He shook his head at her as his foot shot out in a half-hearted kick in her direction. "Go shower. We have a game to finish."

"Fine," she muttered. At least doing that would give her time to figure out how to prove to Steve that she could handle a little rough and tumble without breaking.


	9. BFFs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wlk68 requested some Clint and Natasha BFF time.

Natasha looked all around to do yet another head count of the team. Tony and Thor flanked either side of the Quinjet, pacing the craft on its return trip to New York from Cairo. Bruce was snoring softly on the bench behind the cockpit, and Steve and Phil were in the back, getting a start on paperwork. She and Clint, as well as Phil, had spent the entire fight inside the Quinjet, offering aerial assistance only since the bad guy this time—some enchanted, giant piece of humanoid-shaped rock—required only the heavy hitters to be on the ground for safety's sake.

She double-checked the controls in front of her to make sure whatever she spoke into her headset would be going into Clint's ears only. "I need to ask you a favor."

He looked over at her briefly before refocusing his attention on his side of the console. Since he hadn't gotten as much action as was normal in a fight, Clint refused to put the Quinjet on autopilot. "You're not going to ask me to kill someone for you. Because, I mean, for you I would, but…"

"Since when have I ever needed someone to do my killing for me?"

"Touché. What do you need?"

"A babysitter."

"Is this going to be another time of the 'we don't want to fight in front of the kid, so take her for a little bit' thing? And is that going to be a routine?"

"No, and maybe," she answered.

"So why do you need me to watch her?"

She fiddled with the controls in front of her for a moment and double-checked over her shoulder to make sure Bruce was still asleep and that Steve and Phil hadn't reemerged into the main cabin. "We've never had time to ourselves where it's been just the two of us," she replied. "At first it was only a working relationship, then it was him looking out for me because I was pregnant, and then we were married, and now we have a kid. There's a whole, big middle of a normal relationship that we skipped over somewhere."

"I can understand that," he told her quietly. "Guess it's easier when there's not a kid involved."

"Please, you two practically dated for years. Just without the sex."

"Which is an honest-to-God shame."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Can you do this or not?"

"Of course I can. It will give Phil an excuse to finally take some time off and be lazy for a few days. Because apparently me just asking him to do it isn't a good enough reason."

"I can't imagine why the thought of you never changing out of your pajamas and probably only showering once for the better part of a week isn't enticing to him."

"Please," Clint scoffed. "We've been held prisoner how many times? He knows how bad I can smell."

"Sexy."

"Depends on what you're into," Clint countered with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Gross," Natasha muttered.

"So when are we taking Nadia?"

"In a couple weeks—that way we have time to arrange vacation time and everything. First week of December sound alright? Just for three or four days."

"Sure."

Nat worried her bottom lip a moment before expanding on her need to do this. "It's been three months and he still looks at me like I'm going to break at any second."

"To be fair, you did scare the shit out all of us."

She pursed her lips; she knew she got off easier than the men for the four days where she was fighting for her life. At least she had something to do, a goal to achieve; the rest of them had to sit around and wait. Thankfully, patience was not a requirement in the superhero business.

"I just think," she continued, "if I get him alone and away from Nadia for a bit, so he can see me as  _me_  and not her mother or something, that it will be easier for him to understand that I'm not sick anymore."

"Just give him time."

"I'm tired of giving him time. I need—" She paused to sigh. "I just—"

"You want to get laid." He laughed when Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. "Please, I know that face. You've come to  _me_  before with that face. You have an itch that needs scratching." He paused to adjust their altitude slightly to compensate for some atmospheric conditions. "Weren't you two having sex before she was born? Or did he just answer the door naked that one morning to screw with me?"

"We were, and we've started up again—which took a whole other round of convincing him that I'd be fine—but it's…"

"Gentle and sweet and you'd rather run the risk of breaking something instead?"

She nodded. "I had my field status revoked, then the decreased work schedule, then bedrest, followed by not being able to stay awake for more than five minutes. Knowing how bad I felt and knowing how good I feel now, I don't want to waste my time any more. I mean look at me right now—first big fight since I got back, and I spent the entire time strapped in the co-pilot's chair."

"You don't have to convince me that you should have a sexfest, I already said I'd watch the kid. But," he added, "just know that it's not easy for those of us on the other side of the fence. Watching someone you… someone you care about a whole lot almost slip through your fingers messes you up inside. Don't get too mad at him."

She nodded. "But it's not just the sex thing—we've never had an actual date," she admitted quietly. "He deserves some bit of normalcy, and he isn't likely to get it all that often since he married me."

"That's still weird, by the way."

"Tell me about it," she muttered. "I have a husband and kid. What the hell happened to me? I spend most mornings trying to figure out when exactly I slipped into a parallel universe."


	10. Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler, much to the pleasure of a lot of you reviewers from yesterday, asked for a peek at the actual post-baby honeymoon for Steve and Natasha.
> 
> It also gives me an excuse to reference this adorable picture: http://saranoh.tumblr.com/post/48896842311

Their phones chimed at the same time—the hourly text from Clint letting them know that Nadia was still alive and well under his and Phil's care. The only time they didn't arrive was when the man was sleeping. Each text was accompanied by a picture, and Natasha appreciated the excuse of Clint sending all of the images to her phone to explain why there were so many pictures of her daughter on the device. Steve's held plenty in its memory banks, but Natasha felt like she needed to put a strong, emotionless front when she returned to work. Most of SHIELD had heard about her difficulty in the days following Nadia's birth and she hated when people saw her as someone who was weak. Also, it was probably safer for Nadia to keep a low profile. Steve disagreed, at least when it came to co-workers; he happily showed off the most recent photographs whenever someone even looked like they might be even slightly interested in hearing about his daughter.

This picture was one of several now that included Phil. Not Agent Coulson, but Uncle Phil, with his glasses and a hint of a happy grin on his face as an almost four-month-old Nadia slept up against his chest, the light of the room catching her now fully red hair. Steve and Natasha stared at the photo on their respective phones for a moment before slipping them into their pocket or purse to refocus on dinner and each other.

It was the second night of four for their… whatever this was. Actual honeymoon? Vacation? First series of dates? They'd picked Boston as their destination; someplace out of town, but still fairly close in case anything happened and they needed to get to New York in a hurry.

They spent their days sightseeing and attempting to be a normal couple. Evenings so far were spent at one upscale restaurant after another—yet another unnecessary gift from Tony and Pepper. Natasha suspected the impossible-to-get reservations and free meals were a thank you from Tony for them leaving Nadia with her godfather and not her godmother.

Steve and Natasha agreed to discuss their daughter as little as possible in an effort to learn more about each other. It led to stilted conversation or playful bickering, but nothing more. Natasha wasn't sure what she really expected out of these four days, but she was pretty sure it wasn't this. Not the mostly-silent dinners or the games of making up biographies of people they passed on the street. She didn't know how to act in a normal, mostly-healthy relationship. That was never something she'd really experienced, at least not for any length of time. The only upside was that Steve was in the same predicament she was.

They managed to fumble through their second dinner before heading back to their hotel. On the elevator ride up to their suite, Natasha felt her nerves buzz, and not from the bottle of wine they'd shared over dinner. This was the frenzy she felt build up inside of her when she went too long without expending a serious amount of energy.

Steve unlocked the door and waved her through. Like they did whenever they came back after being gone, they immediately set to work to sweeping the suite for bugs. Once everything came up clean, they each began to undress.

"You looked beautiful tonight," Steve said over his shoulder as he removed his jacket and loosened his tie. He had the suit he wore to their wedding on tonight. Even though he was obviously trying to be kind, the comment pissed Natasha off. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Don't you know how gorgeous you look?" he asked quietly.

"It's eyeliner, knowing the right shape of a dress to wear, and recognizing which angle to hold you head so the light catches your eyes. It's all just a bunch of tricks."

"Nata—"

She had his legs swept out from under him before he could finish saying her name. Natasha ended the move by sitting herself on his shoulder blades and pinning his hands above his head. She ripped a slit up her right thigh in the process, but she could buy another dress.

"What the hell, Natasha?"

"I'm not beautiful; it's a series of tricks. This is what I am—I was created to be a weapon. Nothing that's happened in the last year changes that. I don't need you to rescue me or for you to try and make me feel good about myself; I need you to accept me for what I am."

She gracefully stood and took a step away, never turning her back to him. He remained prone on the carpet for a few seconds before standing. He turned to face once he was on his feet again, his jaw taking on a hard line. "All I meant was—"

Natasha had him pinned once more in under a second, this time with her sitting on his chest and absolutely uncaring at the curses beginning to stream from his mouth.

"This is what I am," she repeated.

"I'm not trying to fix you."

"I don't need protecting, either."

"Get off of me," he ordered.

"Not until you understand that I'm not going to break."

He sighed. "Get off of me," he said in a quieter and deeper tone. His voice rumbled against her legs and stomach from where she leaned over him to pin his hands up over his head. "Because if you don't, I'll rip my clothes, and I've seen the way you look at me when I wear this suit. Pretty sure you don't want that to happen."

She remained where she was for a moment to search out deception in his face. When she didn't find any, she eased off of him. "We really doing this?"

"It's apparently that or you continually pinning me to the ground and yelling at me until it's time to go home, so yes."

He stripped out of his dress shirt and slacks deciding to do battle in an undershirt and boxers. He folded his clothes from dinner neatly onto a chair while she pushed furniture out of the way in the living room area of their suite. She considered losing her outfit, too, but it was already ruined and she missed the feeling of fighting in a cocktail dress and fishnets.

It was Steve who took advantage of a sneak attack this time. In under two seconds, he had her pinned face down on the floor. "One," he growled in her ear.

She felt a predatory grin spread across her face as he released his hold her and stood. They began to slowly circle around each other when their phones each chimed again. "Ignore it," she instructed.

"It's Clint."

"And it came at exactly ten o'clock. If it was at ten-oh-two, I'd be worried."

Steve rolled his lips while he weighed her words against his instincts, but he nodded and kept his focus on her. The next takedown took longer; they bobbed and weaved and slipped from each other's grasp. Just as one was about to pin the other down, they'd suddenly find themselves on the defensive and trying to fight off being wrestled to the carpet.

He eventually got her in a hold and successfully pinned her in place for a few seconds. "Two," he taunted in her ear. He froze when he saw her face, a trickle of blood emanating from her bottom lip.

"Don't stop," she told him.

"You're bleeding."

"My mistake for not doing a better job of dodging your elbow." She watched his Adam's apple bob and shook her head as she swiped at the injury with the back of her hand. "Don't do that; don't get lost in your head. You didn't hurt me on purpose. And you're not the only one with the ability to heal at an accelerated rate."

"Not as fast as me."

She wrapped her legs around his middle and twisted. Smirking down at him, she said, "And who's the slow one now?"

It took a minute for him to lose the skittishness in his attacks, but he recovered and she stayed clear of his elbows. She claimed the next pin, and he won the following two.

"Four," he counted in her ear, his fingers tangled in her curls and pulling with just the right amount of force. An involuntary gasp escaped her as he began to leave a trail of little kisses and bites down her neck and onto her shoulder. She closed her eyes as the fire in her limbs moved to a smoldering heat in the pit of her stomach. Taking advantage of the distraction he was causing her, Steve flipped her onto her back.

"I could never forget how strong you are," he said as he loomed over her. "Never. And that's what I mean when I say you're beautiful."


	11. First Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qweb requested "Nadia saying her first word (mama)".

Natasha was hard at work on typing up a report on the Stark Industries private jet. She'd spent the last three days working once again as Natalie Rushman and trailing Pepper at a conference because of a security threat to the woman and the company she ran. Natasha and local SHIELD agents had managed to neutralize the threat quickly and without violence within twenty hours of arriving at the conference in Moscow. But out of need of keeping up appearances, Natasha had to remain with Pepper.

Honestly, Natasha thought the whole Rushman cover was a joke. Everyone knew who she was now (something she hated), and if they didn't recognize her immediately, it was easy to put two-and-two together when she appeared places with Pepper. And if they still didn't recognize her then, when Tony'd shown up eight hours ago and repeatedly emphasized the name Natalie when addressing her…

Natasha hated when Tony showed up on a mission when she was supposed to be working a cover.

Her teammate had elected to fly back with Natasha and Pepper, although Natasha was fairly certain that was only because he hadn't seen Pepper in a week due to conflicting schedules. From the muffled moans that had emanated from the bedroom located in the back of the cabin shortly after the jet had lifted into the air, Natasha's theory definitely held water.

She checked the time on her phone and debated whether she should bother trying to sleep. She'd been up for twenty hours, which was not anything extreme, but it was another four hours before she'd be home in the middle of the afternoon New York time. And home included a daughter who was two weeks shy of turning one.

Nadia now sported six teeth, babbled incoherently, and could crawl at an impressive speed. It was only a matter of time before she started to walk on her own. She could manage if she was holding to furniture or her father's fingers (and in those cases she had a habit of walking on her tip toes), but so far had yet to figure out how to balance without assistance, which was something the child found extremely frustrating.

Natasha's phone began to buzz on the table, and she accepted the request for a video chat with Steve. "Everything okay?" she asked as soon as she saw his face. They'd texted back and forth when the plane had taken off, so he knew she was on her way back.

He smiled at her on the tiny screen even though Nadia was plainly sobbing in the background. "What's wrong? She teething again?"

"Listen," he told her.

Natasha strained her ears. From the look of things behind Steve's head, he was standing in the hallway just outside of their daughter's room. She tried to hear exactly what her daughter was babbling through her tears about but couldn't. "I can't hear her."

Steve barely opened the door so as not to alert Nadia to his presence, and Natasha felt more and more frustrated with every second. Even though she was an advocate of self-soothing, it still irked her that her daughter was sobbing and Steve was grinning about it.

And then she heard it. She froze when she heard the single syllable Nadia was repeating over and over again before brushing it off as coincidence. "She's just babbling, it's not—"

Steve entered the nursery and flipped the phone so Natasha could see Nadia, her chubby face all red and tear-streaked, sitting in her crib. At the sight of her father, she pulled up to standing and continued the cries of "Mamamamama."

Even though she could sign a number of words, she'd never distinctly spoken one. At least not on purpose and using it for its intended meaning, and Natasha was fairly sure this was another example of that.

"Steve, she's just—"

As soon as she spoke, Nadia froze. While she could see Natasha's face on the screen of the phone, the child didn't have the capacity to understand the concept of a video chat. But she certainly knew the sound of her mother's voice.

"Who is that, Nadia?" Steve asked. "Who do you hear?" Their daughter remained frozen in her crib, teetering on the edge of starting up with her crying again. "Talk to her," Steve instructed Natasha quietly.

"Hi, Nadia," Natasha spoke aloud. She always felt dumb the few times she adopted a different tone of speaking voice when addressing her child, something Steve obviously didn't have an issue with.

At the sound of the greeting, one hand let go of the crib railing to flap excitedly in the air causing Steve to laugh. "Who is that talking, Nadia?"

"Mama," she answered.

Neither Steve nor Natasha said anything for a moment as the sound of their daughter's first word settled in their ears. "You heard that, right?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," she breathed. She blinked as she watched Nadia bouncing up and down in her crib.

Not only had the girl just said her first word, but she showed that she recognized Natasha as her mother. And that caused Natasha's world to momentarily tilt on its axis.

"Nat?"

"Yeah," she answered louder.

The view on the phone went dark for a second as Steve picked Nadia up out of the crib and held her against his side. He readjusted the device so both of them could be seen in the shot. "First word," he said with a smile.

"Yeah." She knew she should probably say something more, but couldn't find the syllables she wanted to string together. "I'll be home soon."

"Maybe by then she'll be saying Dada." He jostled Nadia gently. "Hear that? Dada." The girl smiled around the fingers she had stuck in her mouth, but made no move to respond otherwise. "Worth a shot," Steve muttered. "See you in a few hours."


	12. Sandwich Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dr-kara asked for "Clint Barton finds a kitten in the rain". Thanks to the_wordbutler for letting me put Sandwich Cat into the Nadiaverse.

He found her (him?) in the alley next to the building he'd used as a perch in the battle they just finished. Its fur was a mixture of grays and its eyes were big and blue. It mewled helplessly at Clint from underneath the dumpster as soon as his boots hit the ground.

He was supposed to immediately go to one of the plethora of SHIELD cars at the scene, ride back to Stark Tower, and do the usual debrief with the team. That's what he was supposed to do, but it didn't happen. Instead, he spent five minutes trying to coax the rain-soaked kitten out of his hiding place and was only successful when he offered up a tiny bit from the half-eaten sandwich he'd tucked away in a pocket as he dashed out to the scene of the fight.

Clint cradled the thing against his front; it was easily small enough for him to hold in his left hand while his right carried his bow. Knowing he'd catch shit if he walked out to talk to agents with a furball in his hand, he began to search for a safe pocket to stuff the thing into, but most of them held weapons. And while Clint didn't know too much about cats, he figured shoving the thing into a cargo pocket with some small explosives probably wouldn't turn out well for anyone involved.

"Please don't have rabies or fleas," he requested quietly as he unzipped the front of his tactical vest and maneuvered the shivering thing inside. "And don't scratch up my chest, Phil will get jealous." He paused to think about the consequences of that particular outcome and found himself smirking. "Then again…"

He jogged out of the alley and caught Natasha's attention. She flicked her head towards an empty car, grabbed a set of keys from a nearby agent and slid into the driver's seat. He kept his head down in the rain and quickly made his way to the vehicle, angling into the passenger seat after dumping his bow and quiver in the trunk.

Natasha did a double take at the small bulge under his vest. "What the hell is that?"

"Cat." She stared at him in a silent request for him to elaborate. "It was under the dumpster, so I rescued it before it drowned under there."

"You're going to keep it?" He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. "Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you look for weak, helpless creatures to save in some effort to deal with your childhood," she answered.

"Since when did you start working for Psych?" he muttered.

"Just don't let Nadia near that thing."

"Why? She allergic?"

"No, she's eighteen months and a lover of all things fluffy. She'll either trail behind us all day everyday begging for a 'kitty,' hug the thing to literal death, or both."

Once Clint made it back to his and Phil's quarters, he quickly searched for a place to stash the kitten while he went down to the common floor for the debrief. And to, you know, tell Phil about their new pet. He wished he had time to bake brownies; Phil took news like this easier when dessert was involved.

Clint found a box that would give the cat plenty of room. He pulled the knife from his boot and stabbed holes in the top before lining the bottom with newspaper and dumping the kitten and what was left of his sandwich inside. "I gotta go to a debrief, but I'll be back. Please don't escape."

They ran through the meeting, and Clint waited for Phil to pack up all his files as the rest of the team fled for the showers. It was then Phil knew something was up, since Clint usually left with everyone else.

"What did you do?" the handler asked as he reached for his tablet to pull up whatever SHIELD forms would be needed to deal with Clint's latest disaster.

"It's nothing bad." Phil snorted at the line he'd heard before. "There was this kitten and it was stuck under a dumpster—"

"So you brought it home with you?" Clint shrugged his answer which caused Phil to let loose a long sigh. "I thought after you brought in Natasha you understood the fact that I'm not big on you bringing home strays without my permission."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Just come upstairs and make sure I haven't done anything yet that might kill it."

"It? You don't know if it's a boy or girl?"

"It was pouring rain and the thing was shivering. Didn't think it was a good time to inspect for junk."

The men silently rode the elevator up to their floor and, once inside, Clint led Phil over to the box that was a makeshift cat kennel. Phil knelt down and peeled back the top flaps and looked quizzically at the contents inside. "Did you feed it part of a reuben sandwich?"

"It was the only food I had on me. What was I supposed to do? Ask Nat to pull over at a pet store? And why? Is it bad for cats to eat sandwiches?" Clint asked.

The man shrugged. "I only had a dog growing up, I don't know."

"I thought you knew everything."

Phil shot him an unimpressed look. "Go shower," he ordered.

By the time Clint got himself cleaned up, Phil was on the couch working on paperwork. His tie was long gone, the first few buttons of his dress shirt unbuttoned, shirttails untucked from his pants, and the kitten purred happily in lap. Phil had one hand manipulating the tablet while the other petted the cat absentmindedly. Clint flopped onto the couch next to them and reached out to join in on the petting only to receive a hiss from the little thing.

"Hey," Clint argued, "I'm the one who saved you, not him. Traitor."

The kitten stood up, turned a hundred and eighty degrees so its furry butt faced Clint, and settled back down again, purring. Phil didn't even bother to hide his chuckling. Clint shot them each a dirty look. "I hate you both."


	13. Produce and Pinky Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one prompted this particular scene, but it's something I've been sitting on for almost five months. I saw the beginning of this little one-shot play out one evening at the grocery store, and immediately saw Steve and Nadia in my head and had to go home and write it down.

Steve reached down to grab a shopping basket his free hand. His left was occupied at the moment. Nadia had her hand wrapped around his index finger. The rest of his digits enclosed her tiny fist within his own.

"Okay, we just need a few things. Mama promised to do the rest of the shopping when she gets home from her trip."

Red curls bounced in an assertive nod as her eyes began to roam the offerings of the produce section. Steve didn't think he'd ever get tired of seeing Natasha written so plainly in his daughter's actions and expressions.

Well, that wasn't totally true; bedtimes could sometimes be a bitch. Natasha tried to use the nurture versus nature argument in an attempt to place blame on his broad shoulders for some of the child's stubbornness. But Steve argued that he could not quirk a single eyebrow up at a time, unlike said three-year-old daughter.

Nadia's fingers wriggled out of his and she signed "What do we need?"

Steve fought a sigh. The problem with having an extremely bright and nearly trilingual child who lived with a bunch of intelligence agents was that she rarely spoke aloud in public, at least not in English. He kept telling Natasha that she needed broken of the habit before preschool next year but Natasha just waved him off and stayed in her realm of denial from the fact that her baby was no longer a baby.

"Bananas," he answered.

Nadia's eyes lit up and she grabbed his hand once more to drag him along to the correct fruit. He quickly selected a bunch and placed them in the wriggling, demanding fingers of his daughter. "You got it?" he asked, and she nodded. He eyed her a moment longer to see if it was true since the bananas took up the entire length of her torso. Nadia hugged them to her and looked up at him with an expectant look on her face. "Apples," he replied to answer the silent question.

She hurried off again, Steve close behind. He chuckled and shook his head when he saw where she stopped. "No, Bug, those are tomatoes. Close though. Apples are over here." He grabbed a few, bagged them, and placed them in the basket. "Anything you want?"

A smile broke out on her face and with practiced steps she led him over to the pineapples. "Of course," he said. "You know, that was Mama's favorite thing to eat when you were in her belly."

Nadia shot him look that let him know she questioned his sanity for saying such a preposterous sounding statement. Nevertheless, he placed one in the basket before reaching down and plucking the bananas from her arms. He ignored her pout and once again took her hand in his. "Daddy needs protein and then we're done. And," he crouched down so he was eye level with her and gave her a conspiratorial grin, "since Mama isn't home, want to have hot dogs with mac and cheese for dinner?"

Her curls bounced as she nodded fiercely. She stuck her hand out, her chubby pinky finger the only one extended.

Steve looked at her with confusion. "What's that?"

She leaned in closely to talk as softly as possible so others wouldn't hear her words. "Pinky promise, Daddy. It's what you do when you hide things."

"And which one of your uncles taught you that?"

"Uncle Tony."

He sighed. "Did Uncle Tony also tell you about the Parent Exclusion Act of the Pinky Promise rules?" Her eyebrows knit together in concentration before she shook her head. "Well, that says that even if you pinky promise with someone, you still have to tell your Mama and Daddy what the secret is."

She tilted her head and squinted slightly at him. "If I pinky promise with you, does that mean I have to tell Mama about the secret?"

"I'll have to do some more research on that."


	14. Three Little Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qweb requested "Most of all I'd like to see Natasha tell Steve she loves him."

Natasha never said the words to Steve directly. She'd whispered them into Nadia's curls like a secret, but never said them out loud with any volume, especially not to her husband.

She was grateful that he was okay with that, and that when he said the words to her he didn't wait expectantly for her to return the sentiment. He didn't do that because he knew she loved him, and that she showed it through action rather than speaking the words. She expressed it in the soft smile that only he saw, by constantly having his back during fights, brushing the hair out of his eyes while he slept, by eating the pickles he picked off of sandwiches.

Natasha'd felt the words threaten to tumble out of her before: in battle, in bed, and anywhere in between. But they always grew too thick in her throat and never made their way out of her.

They were together for nearly four years the first time it happened.

Nadia was upstairs visiting Ruby the Cat with her new pal Zelda. Clint and Phil had volunteered to watch the pair of them for a bit while Natasha finished a conference call with the SHIELD office in Sydney and Steve packed for a mission he was being tasked on in Seattle.

The girls had only been upstairs for twenty minutes, but Natasha probably needed to collect them soon. Phil and Clint could easily handle Nadia on their own, and had for years without incident. But when a second three-year-old girl, this one not as shy and visibly more excitable than what they were used to, was added to the mix… Natasha didn't want to lose two of her most trustworthy babysitters.

"You seen my wallet with my fake ID?" Steve shouted from the bedroom.

"In your sock drawer," she answered from her position at the dining room table. She continued typing up her notes from the meeting she'd just ended.

"Are my sweatpants clean?"

"You have at least two dozen pairs of sweats for reasons I still don't understand. Surely one of them—"

"The pair I go running in all the time."

"Steve, they all look the same."

"These are softer than the others," he explained as he exited the bedroom to head towards the laundry room attached to the kitchen.

"You're delusional," she muttered.

"Heard that," he yelled back.

She mentally read through her notes one last time before attaching them to an email and sending them off to the higher-ups at SHIELD headquarters. "I'm going to go get the girls."

"Phil's bringing them down in a minute, and then we're taking off."

"I thought you were going to leave after dinner."

"Timetable got pushed up," Steve explained.

"Why?" she asked.

Steve recognized her business tone when he heard it and raised his hands (one of them clutching the favored pair of sweatpants) as he made his way back through the kitchen. "There's not an increase to the threat assessment. The contact's girlfriend is extremely pregnant and he wants to get back home before the baby's born."

Natasha shook her head. "Only you would empathize with a double-crossing arms dealer."

Steve shrugged as he passed her. "I like babies."

He returned to the open room that included the living room, dining room, and kitchen a moment later, his bag thrown over his shoulder. "You sure those are the right sweatpants?" she asked as she opened a new file to type up a report on the new intelligence recording she'd been sent that morning.

"Yep, I'm just glad you don't try to steal these, too."

"That sounds like a challenge."

He chuckled as he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll be back by tomorrow night. Love you."

"Love you, too."

He froze, lips hovering against her cheek. It took her a moment to understand what caused him to suddenly act like he'd been petrified into place. She stopped typing long enough to realize what she'd just said without thought.

Slowly, she turned toward him; his face was slack, surprise evident in his features. "Surely you already knew that," she whispered.

A corner of his mouth slowly crept up into a smile. "It's just nice to hear the words."


	15. Uncle Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wlk68 requested "a fic that takes place 4 or 5 years into the future where Clint is babysitting Nadia."

Clint sat on the floor, his back resting uncomfortably against a bookshelf. Sure, there was still a rocking chair in the pale yellow room, but the floor was a few steps closer to the door, and he needed to save his energy to get through the next few days. He skimmed through reports on his tablet as the sun started to rise over the city.

"Where's Daddy?"

Clint hadn't heard Nadia stir, too busy catching up on Sitwell's latest series of ops. He looked over again with raised eyebrows. "What?" She made the sign for father with one hand while the other dug into a still sleepy eye. "Your daddy and mama had to go on a mission."

"When will they be back?"

"Three sleeps," he answered, somewhat surprised at how easily his brain had converted time to a concept they all used for Nadia's understanding.

"Does this count as one?"

"Nope. Sorry, Bug."

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment before she grabbed the plushie version of Natasha from the stuffed group of Avengers at the foot of her bed. She crawled out of bed, crossed the room, and plopped herself down in his lap.

He kissed the top of her head before hugging her to his chest. "Go back to sleep. It's still really early."

"Will they be okay?"

"They've got Uncle Phil watching out for them. Has Uncle Phil ever let you down?"

"No."

"Me neither."

Clint went back to reading reports until he heard Nadia's breathing even out. Once he was sure she was sleeping again, he stood up with her still pressed against him. Slowly, he made his way out to the couch and stretched out with her asleep and draped across his front.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep as well. He'd stayed up late on the firing range only to have Phil's phone go off at three. Clint'd woken up to the other man getting out of bed and getting dressed while he talked into the cell pinched between his ear and shoulder. Seconds later, Clint's cell vibrated under his pillow and he pulled it out to see a text from Nat. She'd explained that the three of them—Natasha, Steve, and Phil—were being sent out to stop a weapons deal SHIELD'd found out about twenty minutes prior. She also asked if he'd be willing to watch Nadia.

This wasn't the first time he'd been called in to watch over the girl. And not that he minded at all; he loved Nadia deeply and was thrilled to have some one-on-one time with her. But he didn't necessarily enjoy getting kneed in the side when she woke up again an hour later. The discomfort only increased when Nadia dug bony elbows into his chest in order to prop her chin on to her fists.

"Sit up, please," he groaned.

"Guess what," she said as she squirmed excitedly on his stomach.

"What?"

"I'm four now," she told him as she waved the appropriate number of fingers in his face.

"I know; I was at your party, remember?"

"Oh," she giggled. "I forgot."

The birthday party in question had taken place a few weeks ago, and it was Nadia's first celebration where she got to invite a number of her friends from daycare for food and games in a quiet corner of Central Park. Clint and Phil had been assigned to head up security detail by Natasha; the men coordinated with a handful of volunteer agents (some people would do anything for birthday cake) to make sure the gaggle of four-year-olds and their parents could have a nice summer's day out.

"What day is it?" Clint asked as he mentally prepared to lay out a schedule. Nadia's shrug didn't help him, but thankfully his phone buzzed. "Bet that's your mama texting me," he said as he read Natasha's message reminding him to take Nadia to dance class at two. Saturday, then.

"What did she say?" Nadia asked as she twisted in an effort to try and read what words she could recognize on the screen of his phone.

"You have dance class today."

"I'll go change," she said excitedly.

He grunted as she used his stomach as a diving board to jump on to the floor. "Hey," he called before she was completely gone from the room, "you have to take a bath first."

She froze in place before slowly turning to face him. "Daddy said that I don't have to take a bath when he's gone."

"Sweetheart, you're a horrible liar." He rolled himself to his feet to make his way into the kitchen. "Breakfast first, then bath, then you can put on as many tutus as you want."

She shot him a cross look. "We only wear those for recitals," she informed him. The last word was over-enunciated, a tic she had when speaking words she felt unsure about.

"Well, then you can just go to class naked."

"No," she laughed as she followed him into the kitchen. "I have to wear clothes."

"Bathing suit?" he joked as he prepped the coffee maker.

"No."

"Fur coat?"

"Zelda's daddy has a fur coat."

Clint smiled. "Not quite what I was talking about, but you're right. What do you want for breakfast?"

She jerked open the refrigerator door with a grunt and spent a minute inspecting what contents she could see from her vantage point. "Spaghetti?"

"Pretty sure your dad'll get mad at me if I feed you dinner for breakfast."

"We have breakfast for dinner sometimes," she countered.

He almost gave in to the logic. "What about pancakes?"

With the aid of a stepstool, Nadia helped him mix the batter and consented to eating breakfast as long as he used banana slices to make smiley faces. He then bribed her into taking a bath by promising to let her play with the cat. Clint was sure the feline was already pissed because her favorite human had left, so how much more damage could he really do by letting a four-year-old chase it around for a little bit?

Maybe that's why Ruby liked Phil better.

Dance class was one of the more ridiculous hours of his life. He couldn't imagine being in charge of the fifteen or so four- and five-year-olds. He'd seen third world countries in the middle of a coup run more efficiently. But nonetheless, he gave a little finger wave back at Nadia whenever she shot him a grin and politely put up with the horny dance moms lurking about. He now had a better understanding why Steve felt uncomfortable taking Nadia to dance class by himself.

He let Nadia pick which apartment she wanted to sleep in that night, and she picked her uncles' in hopes that Ruby would finally consent to sleeping in the bed with her. It didn't work.

Sunday was spent visiting the zoo with Bruce tagging along. He offered an enhanced education about the animals they saw while Clint made sure to keep an eye out for danger. Rarely had anyone been stupid enough to even threaten anything against Nadia, but right now she was under Clint's care and he wasn't about to let anything happen to her.

On Monday, the day before everyone was supposed to come home, Clint got a text from Phil saying things might take a bit longer than expected. Natasha and Steve were embedded and couldn't contact him at the moment, which meant it was up to Clint to decide whether or not to tell Nadia that her parents might be delayed. He opted not to say anything. Phil said there was only a chance of them needing a couple of days, and Clint couldn't tell over a two-sentence text whether or not Phil was warning him for what might happen or letting him know about something inevitable.

Very early Tuesday morning, Clint awoke to being poked in the arm. He turned on the bedside lamp to see a red-eyed four-year-old clutching her Captain America plushie. "I had a bad dream," Nadia whimpered.

Clint slid towards the center of the mattress and held up the sheets for her to climb into bed with him. "What happened in your dream?"

She sniffled as she snuggled up beside him. "Monsters came and Mama and Daddy got hurt, and then the monsters started chasing me, and I couldn't find anywhere to hide."

Clint wiped tears off her cheeks, hugged her as tight as he dared, and kissed the top of her head. "We will never let that happen to you. Never."

"Can we call Mama and Daddy?" she asked as he let go of her.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Bug, I don't know if we can talk to them." He saw fear settle in her eyes and he silently cursed himself for saying something that ambiguous. "What I mean is, they're still working. Uncle Phil hasn't called me, so I know they're not hurt." He reached over her to grab his tablet from the nightstand. "But let's call him and double-check, okay?" She answered with a nod as she cuddled even further into his body.

Phil accepted the video call and Clint immediately noticed how tired the man looked. "What's wrong?" the handler asked.

"Someone had a bad dream. Any chance you could patch our audio through to Nat?"

"Think I can do you one better," he said before leaning back in his seat on the quinjet. "Romanoff—incoming transmission for you and Rogers."

Phil rose out of his seat at the comm station to be replaced by Steve, who pulled Natasha onto his lap once he saw who was calling. "What's wrong, Bug?" her father asked.

"I had a bad dream," she answered. "When are you coming home?"

"If you go back to sleep, we'll be there when you wake up," Natasha told her.

"What if I have another bad dream?"

Clint squeezed her tight again. "I'll be right here. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you. Promise."

Nadia took a moment to go over her options before asking her parents, "You'll be here when I wake up?"

Steve nodded. "One more sleep, kiddo. And since it's the middle of the night, it's really just a half-sleep."

"Okay."

"We love you," Steve told her.

"Love you, too."

Clint closed down the call and placed the tablet back on the table. "What do you need? You want to hear a story?"

"Can we leave the light on?"

"Of course," he replied.

She snuggled back against him, and he hummed an impromptu melody in her ear until she fell back asleep. He nuzzled another kiss into her red curls before he too drifted off once more.

The next time he woke, it was to Natasha standing over him. "Welcome home," he whispered.

"Thanks for watching her," she said as she scooped Nadia up into her arms. The child only stirred slightly before monkey-clinging to her mother.

"Any time."


	16. School Moms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vikihogg requested Steve being harassed by school moms and how Natasha would react.

Natasha helped herself to another glass of punch; she hid her smile behind the cup of the over-sweetened drink. Across the small cafeteria of the private school where Nadia attended (a school funded by one of Tony's charities that had stellar education standards and just happened to have a spot open for Nadia and her best friend once kindergarten'd rolled around), Steve was stuck in a conversation with four school moms.

Nadia was going into second grade this year, so this would be year three of watching the mothers (and a couple of fathers) of her daughter's classmates drool over her husband. Natasha couldn't blame them really, but she never let it get to her; there was no way Steve would ever be unfaithful.

She had two options: go rescue him or stand and silently laugh at his misery. She chose the latter. Natasha heard the click of heels and the soft sounds of padded feet shuffle up behind her and didn't need to turn to know the McCoys were ambling up to talk.

Kate followed Natasha's line of sight and laughed when she spotted Steve. "Henry, thank you for being blue and fuzzy so I never have to worry about you being cornered by a bunch of horny school moms."

"I think," Hank offered, "that I may be even more grateful for my physical appearance than you are, dear. If I were Captain Rogers, I would more than likely blush until I turned purple."

"You don't turn purple," Kate smirked.

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at the scientist. "What does happen to you when you blush?" She watched his skin deepened in tone to a near-navy and caught a faint rippling motion in his fur. "Interesting."

"I think now would be a wonderful time to introduce myself to our daughters' teacher, excuse me," Hank said before wandering off to meet with Mrs. Hall.

"So," Kate asked, "you going to go rescue him or leave him out to dry?"

Natasha turned her attention back to her husband. Steve had his I'm-in-public-and-have-to-be-polite faux smile plastered on his face. One mom who'd already had at least one facelift and whose eyeliner looked to be tattooed on had one manicured hand firmly clasped on Steve's bicep and was squeezing, causing Natasha to snort into her punch.

Steve caught her eye and his face slipped for half a second into a silent plea for her to do something to get him out of his current predicament. She flashed the little hand signal they used in combat to let him know he could handle things on his own. Natasha could almost hear him sigh from across the cafeteria.

"You might have to pay for this later," Kate warned.

"Only if I'm lucky," Natasha shot back.

Kate laughed and shook her head. "There are still some days where I can't wrap my mind around the fact that the Black Widow cracks jokes about her sex life with Captain America to me."

"There are still days where I have trouble wrapping my mind around it myself. You sure you're okay with the girls being in the same class again this year?"

Kate shrugged. "I don't have an issue with it. I'm going to feel awful for their teacher, but I don't think it will be too much of a problem. They usually stay pretty well-behaved—at school at least."

"Unless there are scissors around, or is it still too soon to crack jokes about that?"

Kate rolled her eyes. The week before her daughter, Zelda, decided that she was tired of her long, black hair and gave herself a haircut. Natasha was just happy it was one of the few times where Nadia didn't do everything at the same time as her best friend.

Natasha smelled Steve approach a moment before his arms wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her back tight against his chest. He then made a show of dipping his head to kiss on her neck—something he rarely did in public. She knew this was just his attempt to signal to the other parents that there was only one school mom he was interested in.

"This is my punishment, isn't it?" she asked. "You're going to make my leather jacket reek of disgusting perfume."

"I'm going to need a three hour shower just to get the smell off of me."


	17. American-Soviet Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vikihogg requested "Nadia is learning about the cold war and finds it very funny that her mother, a product for USSR, and her dad, who is basically America, ended up together."

Natasha lifted her eyes from her tablet to watch her sixteen-year-old daughter emerge from her room and flop into arm chair. "I don't get it," she announced with a puzzled look on her face.

"I thought you said you were ready for your history test."

"No, I mean, I am, but that's not what I'm having trouble with." She didn't elaborate, just curled herself up into a ball, a knot of an oversized hoodie and pajama pants with her long red curls piled atop her head. Natasha raised an eyebrow to encourage her to keep speaking. "We're studying the cold war, right?"

"I would hope so, since I that's what I guest lectured about in your class three days ago."

Nadia gave a little eye roll at the comment. "I just… knowing what that was like, and knowing what Dad and his past was like… how on earth are you two together? And not only together, but married forever?"

Natasha felt the corner of her mouth pull up at the question. She set her tablet aside to focus completely on her daughter—and to buy her some time in coming up with an answer. Because while it didn't feel weird as often as it used to be married and a mother, there were still some days where it caused an itch under her skin that she could never quite scratch.

"There are days where it isn't easy, sure."

Nadia huffed a little laugh. "No kidding. These walls aren't nearly as soundproof as Uncle Tony says they are."

"We try our best not to fight in front of you," Natasha said. "We've always tried to keep you away from that."

Nadia ducked her head and picked at her nail polish for a minute. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. And you should tell us—"

"Mom, it's okay. I promise." She chewed on her bottom lip a moment before continuing. "There's this girl—Adele—in my class, and all she talks about is how her parents never talk to each other, they just live in the same house so she can have two parents, but it's obvious that they're miserable." She paused to shrug. "I'd rather have you fight sometimes than not talk. Even if," she added with a disgusted face, "having to hear you make up is so gross."

A shrug was the closest Natasha came to an apology. She watched as Nadia returned her attention to her nails. Seeing the girl grow up was an exercise in learning so much about herself—what could've been and what would've always stayed the same. She catalogued mannerisms and tells that she herself had learned to suppress over the years develop in Nadia. Shook her head at times when their similar thinking allowed them to do things like finish each other sentences. But it also backfired when they both possessed the same stubbornness and refused to agree on something; Steve deserved all the commendations the world could offer for not only living with both of them but enjoying it.

"You," Natasha answered belatedly causing Nadia to look up at her in confusion. "You asked how someone like me and someone like your father could be together—the answer is you."

Nadia rolled her eyes. "I know the story, Mom; you two were together and then you got pregnant with me, and because Dad is  _Dad_ , he stuck around even though I'm not his. Not that anyone else knows that, but that's what happened."

"Almost," Natasha corrected.

Nadia's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What are you saying?" she asked in hushed tone. "Do I have a father? I mean, a biological—"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. You're completely mine, still sorry about that by the way." It was Natasha's turn to study her nails for a moment while she picked the right words to say. Steve might throw a fit later when he found out what she was about to say, but Natasha believed it was important enough to share. "We weren't together when I got pregnant with you," Natasha admitted.

Nadia blinked in surprise. "But everyone's always said—"

"Everyone's been protecting you." Natasha scooted down to the opposite end of the couch so she could be closer. "Your dad started the story before you were born. He told it to Thor's friend, Sif, and said that I was pregnant before Loki attacked us that night. Not too many people know—"

"That the only way you can get pregnant is by some Asgardian magic spell?" Nadia finished.

"That's not why we did it. I don't care who knows about my infertility." She paused a minute to string her words together. "We knew our lives could never be that of a typical family. We just wanted to let you feel as normal as possible."

"So if you guys weren't together when you got pregnant with me, when did it happen? Did you have someone at work fake your wedding pictures?"

"No, we—"

"Did he just feel sorry for you, and that's why he—"

"Nadezhda," Natasha warned, her face matching her serious tone of voice. "Don't you dare question for a second whether or not there was a time when your father didn't love you, because there isn't. He made sure to take care of you—and me—as soon as he found out about you."

Nadia stared out at the skyline for a while to process the information. "If I hadn't been magicked into existence or whatever, if there was no me, would you two still have gotten together?"

"No," Natasha answered honestly. She didn't cringe at the look of surprise Nadia shot at her. "You're right—your father and I shouldn't work at all. He is what he is, and… Well, you've seen a time or two what I'm capable of. We shouldn't work, but we do because of you."

Nadia still looked a little thrown by the news so Natasha kicked at her chair with her booted foot. "Hey," she said to get her daughter's attention, "this doesn't mean I don't love your father. I do. I just needed you to come along to get me there."


	18. The Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the_wordbutler requested a scene with adult Nadia and her best friend for life, Zelda McCoy.
> 
> Also, this makes the last of the anniversary prompts. There will be a little something posted later today to celebrate the fact that it's Nadia's birthdate, as well as the birthdate of her best friend.
> 
> Thank you all for reading these and requesting scenes from me.

Nadia closed her eyes and happily sighed as she nestled into the chair, her feet soaking in preparation for a pedicure. She heard the front door to the tiny nail place swing open and the clacking combination of Zelda's heels and her luggage rolling behind her on the tile floor.

"Not my fault I'm late," she announced as she burst into the little hole-in-the-wall salon. This was their go-to spot for nail care since high school; that is, unless someone else was paying.

This was the place they came to when Zelda was down from Xavier's school on the weekends, where they reunited after going their separate directions for college, and where they came to celebrate the fact that they were both now currently employed by Stark Industries.

Zelda kicked her suitcase into submission so it was out of the way and flopped into the chair next to Nadia with a sigh. "When do I get to start using the private jet?"

Nadia smiled. "You've been there less than a year, it'll happen eventually."

"If they're sending me last-minute to Switzerland, I think it's deserved."

"Or you could just be happy that you were the one picked to go."

Zelda rolled her eyes. "They only picked me to go because Henson and I were the only ones available, and I look better in a skirt."

Nadia shook her head. "How was the trip otherwise?"

"Shitstorm. The idiot had his technology  _just_  different enough that I couldn't bust his balls on anything."

"Shame on him for depriving you of such joy."

"I know, right? Oh, can I borrow your phone before they get started in on the nails? Mine's dead and Mom'll have my head on a pike if I don't check in." Nadia rooted around in her purse before handing her cell over. She listened as Kate's phone rang and went to voicemail, causing Zelda to roll her eyes for good measure. "Mom, it's me," she said as she left her message. "Yes, I know I'm using Nadia's phone. No, mine hasn't been stolen or lost or broken; it's just dead. I'm back from Switzerland, it sucked. You're probably in court right now, hope you don't eviscerate the judge. Tell Dad I said hi. Love you, bye."

"How are your parents?" Nadia asked as she unmuted her phone before she returned it to her purse, just in case Zelda's mother called back.

"Fine. Oh, are you coming to Dad's birthday party? Mom's trying to get a final headcount."

"This weekend, right? Dad and I can make it, but Mom has to go to a conference."

"What about Joe?" Zelda asked.

Nadia felt her lips roll into a tight line. "His unit was shipped out early; they left yesterday."

Zelda's shoulders slumped at the news. "Sorry, sweetie."

Nadia shrugged. "He's in the Army, and that's what the Army does. Or so Dad keeps telling me."

They paused their conversation to instruct the women working in the salon how they wanted their nails to look. Nadia heard Zelda sigh and knew the woman was rolling her eyes. "Great," her friend muttered. "A new girl." She held her hands up in the air, her palms facing inward. "They're just scales, they don't bite. Don't use lotion and everything will be okay." The manicurist nodded, but the surprise at seeing the unique physical feature of fish scales starting at the back of Zelda's hands, running up her arms and neck before covering her cheeks and wrapping around her ears was still evident on her face.

Zelda turned to Nadia. "You think she understood me? I never know how good their English is, and I only speak Japanese and Mandarin."

"Only?" Nadia challenged with an arched eyebrow.

"Fine, I speak more, but that's what happens when you're raised by polyglots."

Nadia smiled. "It has been a while since I've heard you impersonate your mother yelling in German."

Zelda laughed. "My impressions aren't as good as Olly's obviously, the little freak, but I firmly believe they're more entertaining."

"How is your brother?"

"Doing who-knows-what for your Mom and SHIELD." She shrugged. "He seemed happy the last time I talked to him." They settled back into silence for a moment before Zelda asked, "So how's life as the heir apparent of Stark Industries?"

It was Nadia's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm not going to take over things for a while. Miss Potts is—"

"Nadia, I'm not the press."

She sighed. "I still don't know why she wants me in charge of things one day."

"Because you're the closest thing she has to a kid?"

"Maybe. I don't know, I'd just rather earn things than have them handed to me."

Zelda smirked. "You know how much you sound like your dad right now, don't you?"

"Shut up. But regardless, it's still true."

"Nadia, if our company wasn't so technologically advanced, you would've started out in an actual mail room at sixteen when we were interning that summer eleven years ago. No one believes you won't eventually earn this; and if they do, I'll break their kneecaps."

The corners of Nadia's mouth came up in a small smile. "I can't have my future lead patent lawyer breaking other people's legs."

"Not legs," Zelda corrected, "just kneecaps. There's a difference."


End file.
